


I've got a present for you (purr)

by neuroglam



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cat/Human Hybrids, M/M, Victor POV, author got bored editing half-way through beware, fic of a fic, nothing says i love you quite like enabling each other's bingeing, snow leopard dicks (a.k.a things i'd never thought i'd research for fic), these guys' bedsheets are crusty af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 20:11:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11215431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neuroglam/pseuds/neuroglam
Summary: Victor and his 18.2% snow leopard in St. Petersburg.





	I've got a present for you (purr)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts), [shadow_lover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Hybrid](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10616163) by [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken). 



> Fic of this^^ which you are invited to read and kudo if you haven't done so already :)
> 
> I'd be grateful if you'd point out any typos or general writing fuckery you may encounter :). Thank.

“Hey,” Victor says as the front door closes behind him. “I brought you a present!”

Yuri looks up from where he’s sprawled on Victor’s white leather couch. “What present,” he says with his nose firmly planted in his cell phone like the last thing he might be is excited.

When they first started living together, Victor even used to fall for it. These days, he knows better, and so would anyone who knows where to look. One of Yuri’s ears is turned just that little extra bit towards the door to catch the rustle of the take-out bags, his tail swishes back and forth on the floor, his nose twitches. Gotcha, Victor thinks with a smile. You aren’t fooling anyone.

“I got tuna,” Victor kicks off his shoes and drops the take-out on the dining table. “Come eat.”

No answer. Certain felid hybrids are too proud to be manipulated so easily. Luckily, there are cheat codes to this, and after a year living in each other’s pockets, Victor knows them all. He walks over to the couch and sits, brazenly nuzzling up to Yuri.

“It’s the lemongrass steak, from Rizolli’s,” he rumbles into his ear and sets to work on that spot of the side of his neck.

Most people like their jaw kissed. Yuri absolutely loves it—though he wouldn’t admit it any more than he would admit being excited about a tuna steak feast on the night before rest day.

“Dirty geriatric pervert. You’re always like this when you want sex,” Yuri grumbles, but tilts his neck for Victor to kiss better. “You think you’re fucking subtle or something?”

“Hmmm, no,” Victor chuckles. “I hope my intentions are perfectly clear.” He cups the side of Yuri’s face.

Yuri nuzzles into his palm. “Crystal.” He leans back into Victor, tail still swishing and brushing lightly against Victor’s trousered leg.

They’re in Victor’s St. Petersburg apartment, because Victor—finally, for once, Yuri tells him—did as he promised and came back to Russia.

It’s the same old apartment—with the loft and the huge windows—but it has molded around its new inhabitant, and now feels different in a way Victor can’t quite pinpoint. There’s the obvious: Makkachin isn’t here and Yuri is. So Makkachin things have moved out, and Yuri things have moved in.

For starters, the windows that let in a ton of light during the summer, and that Victor had always been able to ignore in the winter as he spent most of his time at the rink anyway, now sported custom insulation. Victor might be able to bundle up and ignore them, but come October, the draft makes Yuri ball up under layers and layers of blankets and stay there.

The blue minimalist couch is gone after Yuri had spent one too many nights piling pillows awkwardly and glaring at Victor. It’s been traded in for the cushier, leather one that Yuri had pre-tested at the store, and that is now Yuri’s second favorite place to lounge and hang out.

Yuri’s favorite place—another new addition to the furniture, of which Victor wouldn’t tell anyone because he doesn’t want his eyes scratched out—is a two-and-a-half by four ft. wooden box with a heated, padded bottom. Victor lies, and tells Yuri he ordered it on a whim. The truth is, he got it because he started noticing patterns and putting things together. For example, Yuri’s side-jaw-nuzzle thing. And his scratch-behind-the-ears thing. And how Yuri is calmer and more focused at the rink if Victor pets him there and doesn’t stop until Yuri decides it’s enough.

Then, there’d been the pictures on the internet: just regular Buzzfeed stuff you browse through when you’ve got nothing better to do with your life. Cats curled up in boxes, cats sunning themselves on window sills, cats warming themselves on radiators. Big cats doing exactly the kind of stupid shit domestic cats are known for. And slowly, an idea had started to form.

Victor had called a bunch of carpenters until he’d found one who could wire up a safe heating mechanism—it ended up involving the guts of an electric blanket—and who could be patient with Victor’s need to find exactly the shade of wood stain that matches the rest of the bedroom furniture.

The box now lives up in the loft, between the bed and the window, where random visitors can’t see.

It turned out to be one of Victor’s best ideas ever. Yuri says it calms him, to curl up in it on days when the world has left him all worked up and nervy—which is most days, really. (And there’s something to be said about sprawling on the bed with your laptop, one hand casually reaching over the edge to pet your boyfriend, who is purring in his box.)

Yuri purrs at the drop of a hat, now, and Victor feels absolutely smug.

He’s always purred after sex. But he also purrs when he’s happily snuggled in blankets on the couch. He purrs when he’s excited, and when food is tasty.

He purrs when he rubs lightly against Victor.

Last winter, they found out the hard way that Yuri also purrs when Victor is ill. Victor hadn’t been able to sleep, wheezing and coughing with the chest infection from hell, when Yuri cuddled up with his head on his chest and started purring up a storm. “I sometimes do it when my knees start hurting,” he’d mumbled by way of explanation.

Victor had finally— _finally—_ been able to fall asleep.

The next morning, he’d felt better.

Felids purr when they’re ill or injured, he read later on the Internet, and it made him feel so humbled and loved. But it had also made him realize that 18.2% of felid is nowhere near a negligible amount—even if it’s a whole 1.8% under the ISU threshold, like Yuri always tells him—and that he should probably start paying more attention to Yuri’s cat things.

Therefore, rubbing at the side of Yuri’s jaw.

Therefore, the cat box.

And currently, therefore tuna.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Victor says.

“Yeah,” Yuri says, but doesn’t get up from where he’s leaning against him.

“We need to set the table.”

“Hmm.”

Victor sighs and relaxes around him, holding on and enjoying his warmth.

“You smell like other people,” Yuri mumbles and rubs the side of his face against Victor's jaw.

“I’ll go shower,” he says into Yuri’s hair. “Then, afterwards, you can make me smell like I should smell.” Not that Victor can actually smell anything. He just knows that life goes better for him when he keeps in mind that he’s shacked up with a one-fifth snow leopard and that snow leopards are territorial fucks—especially the male ones.

“C’mon, help me set the table,” Victor says and gets up, one hand sliding against Yuri’s neck as he goes. He turns the thermostat up on his way to the kitchen: lounging naked in bed (which he hopes is where tonight is heading) is much nicer when the apartment is warm.

There is a lot of tuna, like there always is when Victor is blatant about getting Yuri drowsy and pliant, blinking slowly and purring under Victor’s caresses with his stuffed belly sticking out.

Yuri loves meat, and even more so, fish—tuna steak, in particular. What came as a surprise to Victor—and what Victor doesn’t think anyone but Yuri’s grandpa knew, when he was still alive—was that when left to his own devices, Yuri would gorge himself, then just… ignore food for the next couple of days. At first, this had Victor worried. But then he took to the Internet and read that for big cats, hunting takes a lot of effort and the prey is often large. It’s not uncommon, for snow leopards especially, to feed rarely but copiously and nap and digest somewhere warm during the rest of the time.

Victor likes Yuri’s tuna thing. Too bad they can only indulge it before a rest day.

“What’s my present?” Yuri asks from across the dinner table and pokes at a piece of fish.

Victor smiles and pours them both white wine—dry and, he’s been assured, well-matched to the tuna.

Yuri looks suspiciously between his glass and Victor.

“It’s not earth-shattering, but I think you’ll like it,” Victor says.

“And will you like it?”

Victor smiles. “I’ll like that you like it.”

“Sure of yourself, are you.” Yuri chews on his fish.

“Hmm.”

Victor eats slowly, cutting his tuna into methodical pieces and taking small sips of his wine. It’s quite nice, leaning back and watching—anticipating—feeling his cock swell.

Yuri starts purring on three separate occasions; blushes fiercely when he catches himself and wills himself to stop. It makes Victor feel so full of himself for causing it—and then makes him think about sinking his cock deep in Yuri’s throat, trying to hold out against the gentle vibrations of his larynx as he works.

He adjusts himself under the table and chases the thought with a sip of his wine.

_____________________

When Victor comes back from his shower, still half-wet and with a towel around his waist, Yuri is lounging naked in the middle of the bed, lying on his stomach with one leg pulled up to make space for his bulging belly. The strip of fur that’s been making its way down his back ever since he hit puberty has spread all the way over his balls now and even goes around the base of his cock.

Victor can hear him purr from here.

“So. Present,” Yuri rumbles and slow-blinks, his eyes travelling all over Victor’s body.

Victor’s eyes travel back. He smiles softly and goes to open his sock drawer and digs in for the custom brush he’s ordered: comfortable grip, bristles dense and firm but still flexible. He clicks a button on the side. “For behind the ears,” he explains as the tips of the bristles show.

Click. The bristles extend a little more. “Head and back of your neck.” Click. “Down your back.”

Yuri surveys it from the bed.

“To provide better scratches, longer,” Victor feels the need to explain. “My tongue’s not hooked-”

The purring has stopped, he realizes.

He looks at Yuri, trying to figure out what he did.

Yuri looks back.

“Will you-” Yuri swallows and closes his eyes. “Will you please at least lick behind my ears, sometimes. Not every time, just-”

Oh fuck. Of all the ways to get it wrong.

“Yuri.” Victor says. “I didn’t mean it that way. I was thinking, in addition to, not instead of.” Well, no: he wasn’t thinking—that’s how he messed this up so bad. He’d been so sure in the brilliance of his own ideas—so encouraged by how well the box and tuna had worked out—that he never stopped to doubt himself.

“I should have checked with you,” he sits on the bed and throws the stupid brush aside. “Should have explained.” Should not have been so attached to the ego-trip of surprising his audience to end up coming across as trying to get out of grooming to an actual fucking felid-

“Let me make it up to you,” Victor says and scratches behind Yuri’s ear, then rubs his hand down and around Yuri’s law. “No brush unless you like it, and definitely not instead of actual petting.”

Yuri opens his eyes and looks at him.

“I should have talked to you about it,” Victor says.

“No, it’s,” Yuri takes a breath and releases it. “It’s nice when you do things without making a big deal of it. It's like I’m one whole person. Not someone that's all about this one weird part that is constantly singled out… Does that make any sense?” Yuri turns his eyes up at Victor.

Victor decides not to admit that this is exactly how he’s thought of Yuri—not as made up of whatever qualities that make him Yuri, but as a “normal (boring) human” with an exotic felid part that Victor can get a kick out of "discovering" and "getting right."

“Let’s cuddle,” Victor says. He needs time. He’s got to follow this realization to its logical conclusion—to re-order his mental image of Yuri into a “Yuri-qualities of equal weight” grid.

He ends up against the headboard with Yuri’s head against his chest and Yuri’s folded leg on top of his. Victor’s hand automatically goes for Yuri’s head and ears, petting and scratching absent-mindedly as he thinks.

A couple of minutes into it, Yuri sighs loudly and relaxes. A couple of minutes more, and the purring resumes. Victor’s glad for this, at least. It’s nice to have a tell-tale sign of when your boyfriend is content and happy.

“I think I’d enjoy the brush on my back,” Yuri muses. “But not together with scratches on the head. Might be too much.”

“Hmm,” Victor says and keeps said scratches going: just smoothing his palm on Yuri’s head and down his neck.

Yuri tilts his head to the side a bit, which Victor knows is an ask to move to the side of his face and his ear.

“You know,” Yuri starts. “When people see me do leopard things, they always make it weird. They stare if my body language is weird, or if I eat too much tuna at once where they can see.”

Victor knows—it’s why he’s started to order take-out and bring it home instead of taking Yuri to the restaurant where judgey waiters and other patrons cannot help but _look_.

“You, though—you never say anything. It makes me feel like like my felid parts are just normal, like my human ones.” And this never saying anything should stop, Victor thinks, especially if it’s going to land them in messes like this one.

“I think it’s a mistake to think of them as separate human parts and felid parts,” Victor says. “You can’t really draw a clean line, can you?"

Yuri tilts his head.

"There’s human things you do like a felid," Victor continues, thinking about the lounging, the tuna and the scratches. "And leopard things you do like a human." Thank god, or everyone at the rink would have been mauled at least a couple of times by now every time Yuri got angry. "And I bet if you picked another felid hybrid, even at the same hybridization ratio, they would each be at different places on a spectrum, for each of their traits," he thinks aloud. "So it might not even be useful to try to figure out if a given thing is human or felid. Better to ask simply how it is, and call it a Yuri thing." Victor stares at the switched-off TV at the wall ahead and keeps talking. "Like, _Yuri likes clothes which have tiger pattern and leather with studs_. Not, _human-Yuri likes the studded leather jacket sleeves_ and _leopard Yuri likes the tiger print_.”

The purring stops. Yuri’s ears point forward, like when he’s focusing on something. Victor stills his hand, just letting it rest on his hair. “Yuri loves this jacket,” he says.

Yuri slow-binks. “I wonder what it would be like. To see it all as, just me.”

You and me both, kiddo, Victor thinks. You and me both. “Surely you saw it as _just me_ when you were small?” he says aloud.

“More like, I didn’t see all of it because I didn’t want to look. Because it was weird how everyone else looked.”

Victor listens in silence.

“Mostly, I just wanted it to go away,” Yuri finishes. “I used to hate it, how everyone would call me cute like the hybridization traits they see outside define me.”

So did I, Victor doesn’t say, wisely. He distinctly remembers looking at the tail and the ears and thinking,  _cute._

“Mostly I just wanted to kill everyone.”

Victor chuckles at that.

“But then you-" Yuri swallows. "What you did, I could discover things about my hybridization without it being about my hybridization, you know?”

“I’m glad it felt that way,” Victor says and brushes a hand down Yuri’s back.

“I’ve been feeling calmer. Happier. Since I moved here and you encouraged me to explore that part of me.”

Yeah, and focusing only on the cat might have served its purpose, but it ends now, Victor thinks. “It's nice that not talking about it took off some pressure." He sees how it would be less stressful to avoid talking about things, he really does. This is how he fucked up his relationship with Yuuri. "At the same time, we probably should discuss things, sometimes. Otherwise, I might not always get it right, like today with the brush.”

Yuri bites on his lip, thoughtful. “I don’t like it when people focus on the leopard parts. Talking about it just… makes me feel weird.”

“So we talk more about the human parts. That way all parts get equal attention. We won't be talking about the leopard parts because they're leopard parts; we'd be talking about Yuri parts because they're Yuri. You know?”

“Right,” Yuri says and falls silent. 

Victor lets him. They’ve both had a long week; just lying like this is relaxing. Victor moves his hand up and down Yuri's back fur and starts scratching lightly with the tips of his fingers.

The purring starts again. Excellent. Victor closes his eyes, half-napping.

“Also, I like it that you think about nice things to do for me without me needing to ask,” Yuri says and calls Victor back to the present.

It’s a good point, Victor thinks. He doesn’t really need to give up thinking up surprises for Yuri and feeling like he’s the shit for getting it right, he just needs to extend his thinking to human-Yuri. It’s only smart, really: if Victor doesn’t cover all bases, someone else will—and Victor quite likes his moody, loving, purring boyfriend. They’re good for each other’s nerves, at the very least.

“Try the brush?” Yuri says and looks up from his chest. His eyes are wide and trusting.

Victor feels proud: he’s earned that trust, even if some of it was by chance. He reaches over for the brush, trying not to dislodge Yuri, and clicks the side-button: longest bristles, for Yuri’s largest, toughest patch of fur. “Just your back, yes?”

“Hmm.”

“Tell me, harder or softer,” Victor murmurs and starts brushing down from Yuri's neck all the way down to where he can reach with Yuri lying half on top of him.

Yuri makes the focused face again—he is at least being a good sport about trying out the brush, which makes Victor feel a little better. “Not harder, more,” Yuri concludes eventually. “Down the entire length of my back?”

“Move, then,” Victor says and nudges Yuri off his chest.

Yuri ends up on his stomach on top of a duvet-and-pillow roll, with his legs tucked under. Victor sits next to him cross-legged and slowly slides the brush from where Yuri’s hair joins up with his back fur all the way down to the base of his tail. “Again,” Yuri says, and the second time he’s arching into it.

“Again,” he demands.

“Okay, okay, I’m not stopping,” Victor soothes and presses harder as he approaches the tail. He’s starting to see a pattern—Yuri curves down his spine as the brush slides down his upper back, but bucks up against it the closer it gets to the tail. It looks like there’s a spot there, the first four fingers above where it starts, that Yuri really likes scratched—like, really really.

On a whim, Victor decides to focus on it. He abandons Yuri’s neck and upper back and scoots further down, so one of his hands can cup Yuri’s butt cheek and the other one can brush above the tail.

Yuri’s purring so hard Victor can hear him from where he’s sitting; his tail is sticking up in the air, and he’s making little mrrows each time the brush passes. Victor grins, because Victor has the absolute best ideas, badly communicated or not. He cups Yuri’s furry balls, tiny, hard and tight against his body like a cat’s are. It doesn’t take long for Yuri to figure out a rhythm of pushing against Victor’s hand and humping the pillow underneath him with every stroke of the brush.

His tail does that thing where it tries its hardest to curl up and away so it can expose Yuri’s ass.

Victor humms softly and presses the tip of one finger into Yuri’s asshole—and Yuri sneaks a hand to grab his dick, and that’s all it takes for him to come and collapse into a boneless heap. A last mrrow quiets down to throaty purring, which transitions into calm, deep breathing within the space of fifteen seconds.

Yuri is out cold, and Victor is a genius. Even without the brush, scratching above Yuri’s tail is definitely a thing which will be happening from now on. Victor takes himself in hand and imagines: Yuri on all fours, pushing against Victor's dick and up against his scratching hand, making those delicious mrrow sounds and squeezing around Victor’s dick as Victor bends forward to bite the back of his neck.

Victor’s balls tighten as he comes, shamelessly, right on top of Yuri’s naked back and ass. Boneless, he drags himself to the bathroom so he can clean himself and Yuri up. He unsettles Yuri for just as long as it takes to pull out the duvet, then snuggles next to him and falls asleep.

____________________________

Yuri is first to wake up the next morning, because of course he is, puttering around the house and generally being, “are you awake yet, are you awake yet?” while at the same time trying to reign himself in and let Victor sleep. Victor is emphatically _not_ a morning person. But he doesn’t doubt that Yuri is very tempted do that thing where cats pat your nose with a paw and, if that fails, sit on your face.

As it is, Yuri goes to the bathroom and showers; goes to the kitchen and makes coffee which he brings back to drink in bed while poking at his cell phone; picks up clothes from the floor and starts a load of laundry.

Comes back to bed with his phone and cup of coffee number two.

By that time, Victor is half-awake but trying stubbornly to keep sleeping. He has a plan for stopping all the going back and forth, and the plan is to lie on top of Yuri and trap him in place.

“Hi,” Yuri tells him softly as soon as Victor cuddles up to him. Yuri’s cell phone hand half-wraps around his neck while Yuri scrolls. With his right one, he takes methodical sips of coffee, the smell of which wafts to Victor’s sleepy nose. In a short while, soft purring starts.

Victor finds he agrees. He’d be purring, too, if he could.

Yuri finishes his second cup of coffee and puts it on the nightstand with a soft thunk. The cell phone joins it soon after. Victor knows what’s coming because the purrs get deeper and throatier as Yuri rearranges himself on the bed, belying their owner’s excitement.

Victor cracks his eyes open. Sure enough, Yuri’s right hand, the one not around Victor, is pushing down the elastic of Yuri’s boxers and wrapping lightly around his dick.

Yuri’s dick is a little weird. Because of the hybridization, it’s redder and thinner and pointier—and much rougher to the touch than Victor’s. Microscopic keratin hooks to scrape out competing males’ semen, it says on Wikipedia: pure felids can get pregnant by more than one male at the same time, so anything to dislodge the competition helps.

Other than that, it works like any other dick: likes strokes and pets and kisses and licks, and generally makes its owner very, very happy. But it means that Victor can pretty much never bottom to Yuri the way Yuri bottoms to him—because Yuri is thinner and smaller, and because keratin hooks and anal mucous tissue do not mix well at all. Victor had researched it: some guy was saying, his girl was ok if he had two condoms on top of each other and eased the way with copious lube, but the thing with hybridized dicks is, each of them is unique. They don’t manufacture condoms that fit well, not really.

Victor never brought it up—it would be really unkind, given that Yuri’s dick was Yuri’s dick and there was nothing that can be done to change this. He’d made peace with how not being on the receiving end of anal was the price of admission to a monogamous relationship with Yuri. On most days, he didn’t even think about it. There were more than enough things for the two of them to enjoy—for example, he doubts many people get to have someone purr around their dick while deep-throating them—and getting your dick purred around while being deep-throated is, hands down, one of the best, best things that could ever happen to a guy, at least in Victor’s experience.

Thinking about it, and watching Yuri fondle himself softly, just playing around, makes Victor’s own dick harden. He shifts a little and presses himself against Yuri’s leg, just enjoying the pressure; the sight and smell and the deep rumble of Yuri’s purrs as he plays with himself.

“It was really nice yesterday,” Yuri says quietly as soon as he feels Victor’s eyes on his dick. “Next time, fuck me; tell me you’ll fuck me-”

“I’ll fuck you,” Victor says, raspy, sleep still working its way out of his voice. “And I will tease that spot next to your tail all the time while I’m doing it.”

Yuri rubs himself harder, this time in earnest, his eyes closed.

“You don’t even _know_ the kind of noise you made last night; you don’t sound like that unless you’re in heat,” Victor continues. “In heat” is another thing that Victor, as a human, can never be; but he’s learned over time that Yuri really really likes it, and in a way different from how he really really likes normal sex. Yuri likes to be reminded of being in heat when they fuck.

“Will you lick my balls; I want you to lick my balls-”

It’s Yuri’s grooming thing. “I’ll lick your balls,” Victor says, and goes to lick and rub his face along the side of Yuri’s jaw. “Thoroughly and with my tongue flat, like I’m trying to clean them,” he says, voice low, in Yuri’s pointy ear, then licks into the short fur behind it.

Yuri keens at this and comes in his fist, eyes closed until his breathing calms down.

“Well, good morning,” Victor teases when Yuri finally opens his eyes to look at him.

“Good morning,” Yuri says, voice raspy with post-orgasm purr.

“Lend a guy a hand here?” Victor says, stroking himself.

“I can do one better,” Yuri says as he scoots down to swallow his dick.

____________________________

“I’ve got a present for you,” Yuri says from the couch, nose once again in his cell phone. It’s a Friday and they have nothing on tomorrow—and Victor has been looking forward to coming home and putting his feet up during the entirety of the previous week from hell. He sighs as the door closes behind him and his Gucci leather shoes take their place next to Yuri’s newest tiger pattern pleather monstrosities.

On the center of the dining table is a huge strawberries-and-cream cake, the kind with the slightly tangy jelly glazing that Victor only allows himself one once a month, taking his time to savor each bite and licking his cake fork after methodically scraping every last bit of cream from his plate.

He doesn’t need to keep in competitive shape any more, but some voices never really leave your head, not after years and years of vigilance and training and people who gossip about people who have “let themselves go.” It’s not a big stretch, from there, to assume that even though you don’t need to keep to a certain body type any more, your twenty-year-old, twelve-years-younger, purring, 18.2%-snow-leopard-hybrid boyfriend does—and there is probably a line out the door of people who’d be happy to take your place in his bed.

So Victor stands there, in his socks, and stares at the cake on the table, at the back of Yuri’s head on the couch, then back at the cake.

A present.

“It’s on the bed,” Yuri says.

The cake is not the present. The cake is just a cake. It’s Yuri giving him tuna, Victor realizes as he makes his way up the stairs to the loft, trying not to get excited.

In the middle of the bed is a deceptively innocent strap-on dildo, of a size that makes Victor swallow and his entire body shiver.

“Go take a shower, you smell like other people,” Yuri complains from downstairs.


End file.
